


Absolution

by headfirstfrhalos



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Asphyxiation, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Caning, Choking, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Edgeplay, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Gaslighting, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Interrogation, Light Bondage, M/M, Masochism, Mild Blood, Painful Sex, Painplay, Past Torture, Power Imbalance, Riding, Sadism, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-11 09:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15969440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headfirstfrhalos/pseuds/headfirstfrhalos
Summary: Tyler wakes up. The earthy smell of fresh paint and mildewed concrete is acrid in his nose, so different from the icy, verdant scent of the outside world. It's the smell that tells him where he is before his eyes focus.Tyler's been rescued-- safe and sound behind the walls of the city. But forgiveness isn't free, and he's got a complicated relationship with the bishop.





	Absolution

**Author's Note:**

> every six months or so the government lets me out of the secret containment facility i'm kept in and allows me to write one (1) bad fic and today i am redeeming my voucher. 
> 
> everyone: happy reunion fics, tent sex, clancy is there  
> me: nico torturing tyler for information, fucked up power imbalances, tyler cries a lot
> 
> this is your final warning that is Not A Nice Story, but remember that no one's making you do anything-- don't like it, don't look.

Tyler wakes up. The earthy scent of fresh paint and mildewed concrete is acrid in his nose, so different from the sharp, verdant scent of the outside world. It's the smell that tells him where he is before his eyes focus.

He's laying on a dented mattress in a dingy room that's completely empty save for a large cabinet made of dark wood. This room is in his district's one and only chapel. He sits up and realizes that he's naked with his clothes nowhere to be found. Old stains, dull from multiple launderings, are peppered across the blanket, mattress, and the lumpy pillow. Some of them are from strangers, but most of them are his. It's not his first time in this room.

The air is cold and unforgiving and he lays back down and wraps the blanket tighter around himself. A chain rattles when he curls up, and something pulls taut around his ankles. There was no heating in this room, there wasn't heating anywhere in the city, and the large northern window with flimsy curtains didn't make things any warmer. It was drizzling outside, the tiny droplets marring his view of the world. He already knows what's out there, though-- he could replicate the view from memory.

The wooden floorboards of the hallway outside the room begin creaking. Someone's coming; and he knows who's there to see him. His heart crawls into his throat and his mouth goes dry.

A key slides into place and the lock clicks open. There's a deep red cloak brushing against the floor and the toes of black shoes glimmering beneath it. There are pale, wrinkled hands, and a face obscured by a veil. Through the grey haze, Tyler can make out the outlines of a face, the peak of a nose, the glister of eyes firmly fixed on his.

"You're awake," Nico says. His voice is low and neutral, as if he were mumbling into Tyler's ear.

Tyler nods silently. It's best not to speak.

Nico shuts the door behind him and locks it, and with the sound of the bolt sliding shut comes a thick-tongued feeling of dread.

"This is the second time in six months," Nico says, walking over to the bed and looming over him. "You're getting bold."

The bishop reaches out and touches Tyler's face. His hand is dry and warm, and the gesture is gentle, unlike the force with which he had yanked Tyler away from the campsite the night before (had that been last night? He doesn't know how long he's been unconscious). Tyler's heart begins racing, both dreading the inevitable pain and excited for the touch. He feels like he should say something to divert the anger he knows is simmering behind the veil, even though he knows nothing he says will change anything.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" he asks. "Did you glean anything _important_ while you were there?"

And this is why Nico hasn't imprisoned him, or killed him, or even just let him go. Tyler knows enough-- _more_ than enough-- for the Bishops and Vialist Federal Corps to pinpoint the Banditos' patterns and wipe them out entirely. He's the lynchpin, their weakest link, and Nico needs him to break.

A deafening _crack!_ , a burst of pain, and a sudden tilt sideways interrupts his thoughts. He's taken too long to respond. Nico takes a step to the side to stay in front of Tyler's field of vision and leans down over him, resting one of his hands over Tyler's neck.

"Tell me where they are, Mr. Joseph," he says.

Tyler breathes hard, cheek stinging, his pulse pressing against Nico's hand as it began pressing down harder and harder the longer he waited. A dull throb of arousal begins building up inside him at the constriction, and he bites his lip and tries not to show it.

"I don't know," Tyler finally says, just to get a reply past his lips.

Bad answer. The hand around his throat tightens and Nico drags him up, gripping his shoulder with his other hand. He pulls Tyler as far as he can go, until the chains on his legs go taut.

"Yes, you do," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tyler's vision is going dark as he scrabbles for purchase and it's only adding to his excitement, but he doesn't move. He knows better than to struggle. Instead, he waits. He closes his eyes and counts in his head, thinking of Josh and the promise he made. He isn't going to tell the bishops anything about them, no matter what they did.

He counts to twenty before Nico drops him, and he collapses onto the mattress, coughing and wheezing. His ears are ringing and he still can't see, but he can hear Nico walk away from the bed and towards the cabinet tucked in the corner adjacent to the bed. The ring of keys comes out again, and the jingling echoes in his head.

The sound awakens a terror so deep that his oxygen-deprived brain briefly goes unconscious.

Nico is standing at the foot of the bed when Tyler's vision returns. The cabinet doors are open and Tyler can almost smell the steel of the pliers that ripped out his fingernails the last time he was in this room.

"What would it take for you to confess?" Nico asks.

"I won't tell you anything," Tyler spits with as much venom as he can manage. It's not much-- his voice is hoarse and he's still light-headed and out of breath.

"You will."

He produces a wooden staff, about an inch thick and three feet long, presenting it to Tyler. It's made of dark wood from the short, shrubby trees outside the city, and Tyler can see the knots in its side glaring at him like accusatory eyes.

Tyler's only been whipped once, and that was with a length of hemp rope no thicker than his index finger. It had hurt of course, but Nico had stopped before he broke Tyler's skin-- it may have something to do with the fact that he was Nico's _personal favorite,_ a fact he never let him forget. Instead, he had taken the rope and tied his limbs behind him, tightening the loops until his shoulders dislocated.

Nico moves towards him and Tyler doesn't stray from his position. He lets the bishop adjust his limbs and turn him until he's completely on his stomach. The thin sheen of sweat that's been collecting on Tyler since he woke up begins to cool on his back.

Nico hits him. It takes him by surprise. The pain on his back is so sharp it almost doesn't register as pain at all, at least until Nico hits him again right next to the first spot. Tyler cries out and his body twists. Nico hits him again, and a burst of white appears behind his eyelids on impact. Tears follow like thunder. Tyler kicks his legs even though he knows the chains will stop him, and gets a strike across the back of his calves for his trouble.

The blows burn long after they're made and his whole back is screaming with pain by the time Tyler loses count. He curls his arms up in front of his face to hide his flinching and his arousal; it's the only defense he has. It makes the blows hurt more because the flesh over his shoulders is pulled tighter over the bones, but he keeps his arms there anyways. Pain is a given, and the only thing worth preserving is his dignity.

The cane sings and snaps as it rushes to meet Tyler's back. Nico isn't hitting him as hard as he knows he can-- Tyler's attended public beatings before and he's seen the bishop draw blood on the first strike with this very cane. Not that he's ungrateful. He lets the blows wash over him in waves. He knows he's crying, he can feel his breath hitching and his eyes burn, but he feels decentered from his body. It's happened to him before, many times, in fact. It was almost a relief to be separate from the pain.

The sound of the cane hitting his skin changes. It's wetter now, and a dot of something warm hits his cheek. Blood.

That tiny spatter brings him back to himself. He turns his head and looks up at Nico just as he hits him again. Something's changed, and the comfort of the semi-predictable routine they'd built and maintained for the last two years was suddenly gone. Nico's made him bleed, broken his bones, electrocuted him, everything under the sun and moon to get him to talk, but his taste for Tyler's unmarred skin kept him from ripping up his back. Has he found another favorite while Tyler was planning his escape? Has he received some intel suggesting an attack from the Banditos? Is he just going to kill him?

Tyler begins to panic, more than he already is. He can't afford medicine if his wounds get infected. It'll take him forever to heal even if it doesn't. Worst of all, Nico might be throwing him away.

"Stop," he hisses, "stop!"

Coddling, of course, is not the point of torture. A blow lands on the back of his thighs and the pain bends his mind so far that he screams, hoarse and wet and ending in an animalistic groan. Nico doesn't stop beating him, and Tyler devolves into hysterical sobbing. His chest heaves and shudders and the skin burns as he moves. The pillow is soaked with miserable tears as he clutches it, flinching and crying out every time the cane comes down. The chains stop his progress each time he tries to twist away.

"I'll stop when you tell me where they are," Nico says, barely winded from his exertion.

Tyler laughs, just as loud and broken as his sobbing and shakes his head, grinning madly at the bishop. He sees Nico's expression twist in rage behind his veil and the rod comes down on his head.

Tyler doesn't realize he's passed out until he wakes up. Nico's not hitting him anymore. Instead, he's sitting next to him on the bed, rubbing Tyler's cheek with the backs of his cool fingers. Tyler is laying on his side, the oozing blood on his back feeling cool and tacky. The blanket is underneath him, and his bare skin is exposed to the frigid air.

The wooden rod lays broken on the ground. It had snapped in two. The jagged ends of the break are coated in red and Tyler notices that the cold, sticky feeling is on the back of his head, too.

With growing consciousness comes growing pain. Tyler groans as he feels the vengeful ghosts of every blow, paralyzed by them. His head is throbbing, too, and he can feel his heartbeat in the back of his skull. It hurts to blink and breathe and move.

"Are you awake, Tyler?" Nico asks.

His voice is soft and full of concern. The second half of the interrogation has begun. (It could be worse. He'd once been held in this room for a month before the second part began.) 

Tyler starts crying again (unaware that he had ever stopped) but not with the frantic weeping that had wracked him in the middle of the caning. The tears fall slowly now, and Tyler turns his head to wipe them away with the blanket. 

"Do you want to tell me where they are now?" Nico continues.

Tyler's breath hitches. "No," he says.

Nico sighs.

"It doesn't have to be this way," he says. "Do you understand why I'm doing this?"

"Yes," Tyler says, because that's the only way he can be honest without agreeing with him.

Nico's hand begins to wander from his face to the side of his neck, to the tops of his shoulders and his upper back. It ghosts over the bloody welts there.

"If you tell me," he says, "you'll never have to feel this pain again. You could have whatever you wanted, I guarantee it."

Tyler swallows around the tightness in his throat. "I want to be free."

"You _are_ free," Nico says, stroking Tyler's chest. "Freedom can only come through order, rabbit. Here, you needn't worry about food, about clothing, about shelter. You have the time to do what you please. The freedom to choose what you want to do. But in Trench? In the wild? Every moment is spent fighting for survival. No time for play."

"Then why are we still starving?" Tyler asks, too tired to care if punishment will be his only answer. "Why are we living in slums? Why do I have to pay tithe?"

"You don't like paying tithe?"

"My heart belongs to someone else."

Nico thumbs his nipple. "Does it, really?"

Tyler shudders and reaches to curl his hand around Nico's wrist as it moves. He can't help it-- it's been so long since anyone's touched him and the pain made him needy, it always did. Both times in the last six months he'd been taken back before he could be intimate with Josh, and Josh never hurt him like he asked.

"It does," Tyler says, even as he luxuriates under Nico's administrations. "He cares about me."

"And so do I," Nico says, massaging his body, "so why couldn't he protect you?"

Tyler's eyes flutter shut.

"He'd put everyone at risk if he did," he says. "Hundreds of-- hundreds of people depend on him."

" _Thousands_ of people depend on me, Mr. Joseph, and yet I go out in person to retrieve you. My position as Bishop is at stake because of you, and with it, the continuation of the human species."

"You can't get me pregnant, if that's what you're hoping."

Nico laughs. "Sex isn't about children. Sex is about control."

"So you admit it?" Tyler asks.

"I was never hiding that. I thought you knew."

He does. Tyler found himself at the bottom of the social order after the world fell and Dema's walls went up-- he was a college dropout and a struggling musician, for God's sake, what profitable skills could he possibly have to offer the great city? The Vialists used money to control its populace through tithes, just like the civilization before them, but Tyler had none, and had to negotiate an alternate way to support the church.

"You don't control me," Tyler says, though somewhere deep inside, he doubts it.

Nico smiles at his words. "Come here, Mr. Joseph," he says, patting the tops of his thighs.

Tyler ignores the screaming pain of his back and his dignity and crawls onto Nico's lap. The feeling of Nico's hands accepting him, sliding across his sides and up his back makes him dizzier than the caning. His bare thighs rub against the coarse fabric of his trousers and he shivers as he lets his full weight down.

"You've changed your mind about the tithe?" Nico chuckles.

Tyler shakes his head but feels for the front of Nico's pants. Nico swats it away, and the other travels up to the top of his head where his fingers run over Tyler's buzzed scalp. They skim over the broken skin at the back.

"They cut it," he muses, curling his hand as if to tug invisible strands. "Such a shame."

He and Josh keep their heads shaved specifically for this reason, but Tyler suddenly and deeply misses the feeling of the bishop pulling his hair as he shoved his cock into Tyler's mouth.

"I'll grow it back," he says, and he's not sure if he's lying or not.

"Good," Nico says, using his other hand at Tyler's waist to push him down a little further, to press his ass against his stiffening dick. Tyler rolls his hips the tiniest bit and he feels the bishop's breath catch. The grey veil concealing his face shifts with his breathing. The large hand lowers to his behind and squeezes, tugging at the soft flesh just hard enough for it to ache, for Tyler to jerk his hips against Nico's erection again.

Tyler is unbearably hard, and has been since Nico walked into the room due to some fucked-up Pavlovian response, but he knows better than to reach down and touch himself. Instead, he keeps his arms wrapped around Nico's broad shoulders and makes tiny rutting movements into the velvety material of the bishop's cape. He relaxes his head, too, resting it on top of Nico's shoulder and angles his face in so his mouth is pressed right against Nico's ear, right where he can hear him. Thin strands of his silver-blonde hair poke through the mesh and tickle his nose.

Nico quits his groping to reach into his shirt pocket, producing a small bottle of oil. Tyler continues grinding and sighing as Nico removes his cape and drops it onto the empty space behind them. The bottle opens, and Tyler can hear the soft slick sounds of the bishop spreading the lubricant onto his fingers.

Tyler can't help but gasp when the first finger pushes inside. He squirms, and Nico presses his free hand into the small of Tyler's sore back to hold him still as he works his finger all the way inside him, rubbing and prodding until Tyler lets out a breathy sound.

The pleasure is deep and dull and full of aching, and Tyler shifts his hips in an attempt to get more of it. It's a nice distraction from the aching on his back and the knowledge that Nico is only trying to fuck the information out of him. He feels the second finger prodding next to the first and he yelps when he feels himself being stretched further, the burn eased by the lube. It moves in sync with the first finger when Nico presses it in all the way and now he curls them together against the most sensitive spot again and again. Tyler would arch his back, but the swelling and beginnings of bruises stop him.

He can feel Nico's cock pressing urgently at his stomach as he lays in his lap, and his own is starting to leak against the coarse fabric of the bishop's pants.

"Enjoying yourself?" Nico asks, his deep, ever-quiet voice little more than a rumble with his arousal.

Tyler moans his affirmation, the chains clinking as he kicks his feet. Nico thrusts his fingers in and out and Tyler can feel them from thick base to blunt tip.

Nico wrenches his wrist until Tyler is panting into his ear, his pained tears being replaced by those of aching, desperate arousal. Just as Tyler begins to get comfortable, he pulls out his fingers, circling his entrance one more time before pulling away. Tyler feels Nico's hands over against the warm skin of his pelvis as he undoes the loop of his belt and pulls out his cock. Tyler looks down. It's a familiar sight to him now, pale and thick, a little curved, flushed red and glistening at the tip. Nico strokes it a few times, tight in his fist, and presses it against Tyler's hole.

Tyler can feel the dull heat pressing up into him and cries out in pain when the head pops in. He hovers above him, thighs shaking as Nico pushes in further, slowly but never stopping. Two fingers aren't enough-- neither are three, for that matter, but the bishop likes him tight.

He finally seats himself fully inside Tyler. He reaches up and undoes the loop of his veil and casts it to the ground. His pale, milky blue eyes meet Tyler's, which are flooded with fresh tears from the impalement. They're tender, crow's feet crinkling, but behind them is cold calculation and behind that is sadistic lust. Tyler holds his gaze, searching for approval.

Tyler realizes doesn't know how old the bishop is. His best guess is sixty, but that means nothing when Tyler has no idea how old he himself is. A lack of calendars and the seasons grinding to a halt meant the general populace was left in the dark about the progress of the months and years. Nico and the other bishops probably know-- they have coffee and wood stoves, after all, so they must have calendars somewhere.

Nico interrupts his thoughts when he slides out and suddenly shoves back in. Tyler moans, throwing his head back and gripping at the material of Nico's shirt so he doesn't fall over.

Tyler's thoughts grow hazy as Nico thrusts a few times, too slow to build any sort of rhythm and only serving to make Tyler more impatient. After a while, he stops altogether, and Tyler looks at him in confusion.

"You said you were in control," Nico says, a smile growing on his face. "Go on. I won't do everything for you."

Tyler curses himself for putting his foot in his mouth. Nico leans back until he's horizontal on the mattress, leaving Tyler perpendicularly seated on top of him, cold without the proximity of Nico's larger, warmer body against him. His whole body is tired, sore, and shaking from the day's torture, but he manages to raise his ass and sink back down, and the full feeling is almost worth the trouble he went through to get it. He leans forward (slowly, as to not upset his wounds) to brace his hands against Nico's chest for leverage and balance, feeling it rise and fall beneath them. He arches his back a little more to compensate and Nico hums in approval, reaching to knead his ass and thighs.

"You've lost weight," he notes, tugging at his flesh as if to appraise its ampleness.

"Not enough work," Tyler says, breathless. "The rations didn't come this month, either." 

"Do you want more?" Nico asks, and Tyler knows what he'll propose if he says yes. 

He shakes his head, then gasps when Nico thrusts up into him in reply. 

Tyler's heating up, but the air is still chilly and he shivers in cold, fear, and arousal.

"Oh, rabbit, are you cold?" Nico croons.

He sits up and reaches for the ground where he discarded his cloak and unfurls it, pinching each end to loop it around Tyler's shoulders, securing the clasp around the middle. It's still a little warm with the bishop's body heat, and it forms a thick layer of protection against the cold air. The inside is lined with satin and it soothes his tender, swollen skin. Some of the tension in his body slackens at the relief. It's several sizes too big, however, and it slides around every time he moves, so he lets it hang off one shoulder as he fucks himself on Nico's dick.

The bishop slips his hands under the cloak to hold his waist, guiding him up and down and slowly tilting him closer to his body. Tyler is grateful, because his thighs are aching and he's already close. His cock bobs between his legs, the head leaving shiny smears on Nico's solid torso.

He reaches down to touch himself but Nico's hand stops him, fingers wrapping around his wrist and bending it back towards his chest.

"Not yet," he says, the gentleness of his tone a direct contrast to the bruising grip he has on Tyler's wrist.

Tyler nods along mindlessly, maintaining his weak, choppy rhythm up and down, letting out a small moan each time he landed. This wasn't going as fast or hard as he needed it and frustration begins welling up inside him, beginning to choke out his arousal. He made an impatient whining noise as he ceased, biting his lip.

"Tired of control?" Nico asks, and Tyler's eyes are shut but he can hear the smirk in his voice. He nods and shifts again. So much for dignity.

Nico sits up and takes Tyler around the waist, hoisting him up and lowering him onto his back, pushing his legs up and apart. Tyler winces and tries to peel himself away from the mattress and the lining of the cloak, but Nico bears down on him, pinning his arms by his sides and beginning to ram into him.

The pain in his back mixes with the throbbing pleasure of his thrusts and Tyler's chest heaves wildly as he's overwhelmed by the sensations. He curls his legs around Nico's middle, crossing at the ankle, their chains singing as the bishop moved. He's going to come soon, he can feel it in the way everything felt heavy and hot and blurry. He twists to try and get some friction on his neglected cock, but gets a hard slap on the face for it. He moans at the pain, getting even closer to coming entirely untouched.

He feels eyes on him and opens his to see Nico staring down at him, his hair hanging down in a pale curtain.

"Where are they?" he demands, and the question is so sudden and empty of love that Tyler feels compelled to answer.

He catches himself, though, remembering what Josh had told him as they crawled through the sewers to escape the city the night before: 

_"I know you're not a hundred percent with us. That's fine. But if Nico comes back-- Tyler, look at me, please-- if he comes back and he gets you, tell him nothing. It's not just you and me anymore. Hundreds of people depend on me. And I depend on you. Do you promise?"_

And Tyler had said, 

_"I promise."_

Tyler shakes his head and Nico slows his thrusts to a halt. Buried deep inside him, Tyler can feel the head of Nico's cock strain and throb, almost touching his prostate, taunting him. 

Nico pulls back and thrusts in again, hard enough that Tyler's whole body is jolted and he whimpers. It just makes his situation worse, and Tyler can hardly get enough air to keep up with his racing heart. Tears slip down his cheeks and leave dark spots on the mattress.

Nico thrusts again, and again, at an agonizingly slow pace, not breaking his gaze on Tyler as he moans pitifully and continues shaking his head 'no'.

The bishop lets go of his hands and presses his forearm to Tyler's throat, cutting off his air. Tyler claws at him to no effect. Bright spots begin appearing in his vision. Nico keeps fucking him slowly and Tyler's hearing begins to fade away to a high-pitched whine interrupted by the thumping of his crooked heartbeat. He's heard stories of people accidentally suffocating themselves during sex-- is Nico going to kill him? 

After he made Tyler bleed, there were no guarantees. His thoughts are swimming-- what was so important that he stay quiet again?

"Northwest!" he finally cries.

Nico squeezes harder.

"Behind-- ghhk!-- behind the ruins. Stockpile."

Nico lets go of his neck and Tyler begins gasping in hoarse shreds, feeling sweet, cold air rush into his lungs. Meanwhile Nico wrenches his legs apart further, gripping the base of his thighs for leverage as he starts to fuck Tyler even harder. Tyler sobs, feeling the heat coiling in his gut grow hotter and tighter until his whole body is taut. He grips the sheets on either side of him, twisting them between his fingers as he tries to brace himself. 

His orgasm builds and plateaus and he lets out a silent scream, back arched, eyes screwed shut as he comes on his stomach and chest, some of it hitting his chin. Nico keeps fucking him through it, and Tyler can't come down, crying out from overstimulation. 

Nico suddenly stops, all the way inside him, his eyes screwing shut. He lets out a groan and slams back into him again and again, slowing each time, and Tyler can feel Nico spill inside him.

He makes two, three more shallow thrusts before leaning back and letting go of Tyler's thighs, pulling out with a slick sound. Tyler's legs drop down around Nico's sides, and he stares up at the ceiling as he tries to get the ringing out of his ears. 

Nico brushes his sweaty hair from his face and smiles.

"Thank you, Mr. Joseph," he says, tucking his softening cock back into his pants.

"You're wel--" 

Tyler realizes why Nico was thanking him. He wasn't paying his tithe-- there was no need to be respectful now. Not after what he'd just done (what he'd just let Nico do to him). He'd been so desperate to come that he'd given away Josh's position and their buried cache of food and medicine.

Nico smiles when he sees the realization dawn on his face. He reaches over and loosens his cloak, letting the corners fall from Tyler's shoulders. Tyler can only watch in horror as Nico straightens himself out. He can only go limp in terror as Nico lifts him to get his cloak and fasten the bloodstained thing around himself. Nico collects his veil off the ground and covers his face once again. 

"I'll make sure to double your rations," Nico says. "From the bandits' stock." 

He pulls out a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocks the shackles around his ankles. They drop free, revealing red marks where they chafed against Tyler's attempts to wiggle away.

"You've earned it," he says, turning away.

Nico exits, leaving the door wide open. Tyler lays passive on the bed, listening to him leave. His heart thuds in his ears as he curses himself, imagining the betrayal on Josh's face when Nico and his police force arrest them.

He eventually staggers back home wrapped in the thin, bloody sheet. He'll return it before tomorrow's service. It's late afternoon, and the streets are full of people shuffling to and from shops and homes. They see him clothed in nothing but the sheet, the way he keeps to the walls and leans against them whenever he pauses, barefoot and bruised, and know what happened. Most have the decency to look away.

He climbs the stairs to his apartment with great difficulty. The door is locked, but his key is hanging on the little nail embedded in the doorjamb. He fumbles with it before managing to unlock the door, dropping the blanket as soon as the door is closed behind him.

He finds his clothes on his kitchen counter, neatly folded. They're laundered and the yellow tape is gone. Something about that makes his eyes water. Tyler decides that his number one priority for the moment is to clean himself off. He doesn't hide the weakness in his knees and back as he stumbles to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind him.

He finds a yellow dahlia in his toothbrush cup.He picks it up, twirling the stem and watching the petals blur, and sets it down before he can crush it in his fist.

He braces himself against the sink and begins to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> bishops: we're going to torture you for information  
> tyler: sounds great  
> bishops: wait no
> 
> i know that everyone is low-key regretting all those blurryface/tyler/josh fics because we now know blurryface/nico looks like That (like emperor palpatine and immortan joe had a really ugly baby) but honestly? this changes nothing.


End file.
